


Blooming Hope

by Louffox



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, It isn't actually romantic, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Sadness, Violence, Violence aftermath, Yearning, but in my head they're married, cleric of hope, relationship left vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25485463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: When had he seen him last? What had he been doing? Had he been not holding his own? Had he been struggling? Did Zolf see him fall but not notice? Why hadn't he stayed close?Is he still breathing?
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Blooming Hope

**Author's Note:**

> hey look a sad!

Zolf let out a ragged breath, letting his glaive drop. He drew in an equally unsteady lungful of air as his wounds made themselves known. The burning rift in his side where the sword had sunk in deep enough to clip rib. The burn from neck to chin where he'd caught a glancing blow from a blast of flames. The split skin of his knuckles from trying to parry a blow that had just slid the length of his weapon and cut into his hand, having to grip his glaive hard to keep the blood from getting under his fingers and making them slick.

He kept the healing magic on the back of his tongue, forcing himself to move through the pains for a bit longer. He wasn't at risk of passing out, he was far too hardy for that these days, and wanted to see if he should save his magic for-

"Wilde.  _ Wilde _ ."

He was impossible to miss- even having traded peacock suits for practical leather armor, he cut a striking figure. And Zolf's eyes were used to seeking him out by now, habitually keeping tabs on his second, his safety.

He'd let him out of his sight.

Why had he let him out of his sight?

When had he seen him last? What had he been doing? Had he been not holding his own? Had he been struggling? Did Zolf see him fall but not notice? Why hadn't he stayed close? 

These Zolf shoved aside, even as he quickly got to his side and half skidded to his knees, hands hovering just above him but not touching yet as he took stock.  _ Is he still breathing? _

Wilde lay on his side, hair in ringlets splayed around and over his face, eyes closed, skin pale, lips the color of lavender petals.

He did not appear to be breathing.

Zolf glanced at his back, facing him- nothing.

He rolled him over, face-up.

Where there ought to be his chest was a gruesome hole. Blood so thick and deep it looked black. Like someone had threaded a bomb in his breast pocket button hole where a flower would go.

The leather was shredded, skin below it just gone. The gore- the damage- was extensive.

Zolf passed a hand under his nose. Touched two fingers to his throat.

Stillness.

Fine.  _ Fine _ . Wilde thought he was done fighting? Zolf would just have to fight for him.

He put a hand on each shoulder, just at the edge of that horrific chasm in his chest, and pushed.

The magic came easily, his stocks still full. Hope and power surged from his touch, pulsing down into Wilde's body, making him glow faintly. The wound began to close.

Again.

Zolf  _ pushed _ more magic into the wound, feeding it power to make sinew, pushing through torn muscle and fiber, reaching into the frayed ends, reaching out, knitting and sealing.

_ Again _ .

Zolf pushed, into and through, tying power to flesh, feeding the spell. It demanded more. He gave it more.  _ Pushed _ .

Again.

Again.

The skin slipped over the smooth, intact muscle, and Zolf knew Wilde to be remade. He could feel the satisfaction of a body intact, what's broken become whole again. The hope reverberated, a feedback loop. As he pushed, it pushed back. His grip was more sure, his own chest felt full and warm.

He'd done magnificently, and glanced up at Wilde to proudly display his work.

Wilde's eyes were still closed. Skin pale. Lips the color of lavender petals.

"Wilde," Zolf said.

Nothing.

Zolf pushed.

Wilde's pale skin had taken on an almost luminescent hue, but the color did not return. He shone, but he stayed still. Cold.

Zolf  _ pushed _ .

Flowers burst from the earth around him, unfurling from soil and spreading blossoms wide. Above, the ancient trees creaked and twisted, leaning closer to the font of power Zolf poured into and through himself, watching, hungering. A breeze rustled and whispered through the undergrowth as the air pressure stretched and shifted.

Eyes closed. Skin pale. Lips the color of lavender petals.

Zolf bared his teeth in a silent snarl as he pushed harder, the bones of his hands nearly bending from the strain, teeth grinding and healing as soon as the bone scraped. A vessel burst in his eye and cleared instantly, the healing power thick in the air latching on where it could. The close branches formed twisted knots and witches brooms, growing too fast to form natural shapes. 

The air was too thick to breathe, smelling of ozone, grass, and blood. Zolf's lungs quailed, but the healing magic fed thirsty capillaries, sustained by the strength he strained to pull from the ether.

Though he breathed power not air, he caught the faintest scent of salt spray on the breeze.

_ I can do this. I can save him. I will save him. _

He pushed, rending all the pathways to power he had, reaching farther in, demanding more, crying out for more, begging for more,  _ let me save this one, I need him, I can take it, give me what I need to bring him back- _

_ Let me bring him back- _

And he sobbed, the first sound he made in the cracking frayed space, because that was it. That was the truth of it, that hope nor magic nor stubborn denial could shift, no matter how hard he pushed. 

_ Give him back. _

Because he was gone.

And there in the forest teeming with fresh life, growth, resplendent in power and lush with hope, Zolf laid his face down on the cold corpse of Oscar Wilde and let his hope go.

**Author's Note:**

> -lies down beside Zolf-

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blooming Hope [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25917835) by [KD reads (KDHeart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20reads)




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